


The Wicked Witch Burned With Water

by AmateurScribes



Series: Whumptober 2019 [14]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alcohol, Gen, Prompt Fic, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Esteem Issues, Tear-stained, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-16 07:17:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21032351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmateurScribes/pseuds/AmateurScribes
Summary: Grif should really learn that just because something looked edible if it was luminescent and weirdly colored, he probably shouldn't eat it.But who on Irisexactlyis going to stop him?





	The Wicked Witch Burned With Water

**Author's Note:**

> Aha! Got one done before the sun had long set in the sky! I'm going to try and moderate myself better with these by getting them done earlier in the day so I can get some good ol' sleep in, haha!
> 
> For the duration of this event, all mistakes are my own.

Grif's not ashamed to admit that in the first few days of being alone on Iris, he drank all the alcohol in both bases. 

There was no one to stop him, and he had been in such a goddamn bad mood that he had been hoping that all the alcohol would make it so that he wouldn't feel so guilty- even though he had  _ no reason _ to be feeling that way.

So that week is a very big blur to him.

He has vague memories of searching the island for more of those weird as hell mushrooms, even finding some that glowed a different color than the bright toxic blue that he had been used to seeing.

And he  _ vaguely _ recalls eating some them in the hopes to get high and  _ not _ trip out.

Somehow Grif wakes up that Monday of the next week with a pounding headache and a complete utter lack of an appetite. Despite, not having probably,  _ anything _ proper to eat in days.

As he squinted up at the bright lights in the base den, he finds that he maybe has some regrets.

Also, his mouth was dry as fuck.

So he does the only rational thing that a hungover man who had gone on a week-long binge would do.

He stumbles off the couch, rolling over and letting himself slip off onto the floor, laying on his back as he continued to stare up at the ceiling.

Then he turned on his side so that he could crawl onto his knees, hands fumbling to grab onto the table, and eventually pulling himself up.

He sways with the movement, and his vision goes blurry for like, a minute, but then he's dragging himself to the kitchen sink, turning it on.

Forgoing a cup, confident that it would slip out of his fingers and smash against the ground- a mess that he did not want to clean up later on- he cups his hands together and runs it under the running faucet. 

The cool water on his exposed skin is refreshing, and after he gulps down greedily, he splashes some water on his face as well, just as an extra measure to make sure that he wouldn't fall back asleep.

As for his headache, he headed off in the direction of the bathroom with the intent to rummage through the medicine cabinet.

Rubbing his eyes, he flicked the light switch on as he walked into the room, and he hardly looked as he opened the cabinet, only catching a glimpse of the side of his body as the mirror side of it started to face the wall. 

Sifting through the different types of medicine bottles, he eventually came upon one that had pain killers, and by this point in his life, he didn't even need to check what the recommended dosage was, he just popped two pills and was done with it.

Closing the bottle and returning it to its place on the shelf, he closed the cabinet and became face to face with his reflection.

And fucking  _ screamed. _

His arms came up in a half-aborted defensive move, and his eyes went wide as they looked at just what had happened to his face.

Because what the  _ hell. _

His normally dual-toned face had somehow- overnight- become even  _ more blotchy. _

On the side that had his natural skin tone, starting from the lower lid of his eye, dragging down the side of his cheek and ending down at the curve of his chin were bleached streaks tinting the skin to a much paler shade. And the same thing had happened to the side of his face with the skin graphs, except somehow the already pale skin had lost even more color, with the streaks switching to the same shade as the other side when it met his natural skin tone again.

It- it almost looked like-

Holy shit it almost looked like tear tracks. A quick swipe with one of his hands proved that the blotches were permanent.

Which meant that somehow his face had  _ literally become stained with tears. _

Now assured that he wasn't just  _ seeing _ things, he took more time to observe this weird as fuck phenomenon.

Were the stains not discoloration of his skin, he'd look like Kai when she had that brief emo phase in her teens, purposefully splashing water on her non-water proof make up. 

But Grif was very much a grown man who hadn't worn make up in a very long time- he had to figure out how to help Kai with it by experimenting on himself, they had the same tones, sue him- and this was most certainly not mascara or eyeliner.

Which just lead to how the hell this could have possibly happened.

He does his best to remember what had happened in the past week, something that could have caused this.

All that could come to mind was the admittance that he was a depressing drunk, and that must have been when he cried- and looking down at his hands he can see some spots of discoloration there too, so he must have cried into his hands at one point- but whether that was in between his eating of the-

_ The mushrooms. _

Walking back to the den- because while this was jarring it wasn't a matter that required him to  _ rush _ anywhere- he stared at the table filled with the multi-color shrooms.

Dismissing the blue ones immediately, he knew from experience that all they did was make him hyper as fuck and fast- very, very fast.

Which left the green and pink ones.

Crying felt more like a Donut thing to do, so he picked up one of the pink ones making it out to be the culprit, and figuring that he should test to see if it did  _ anything _ else.

But how...

Well, it'd be cliche as  _ fuck _ but that didn't stop him from heading towards the fridge and pulling out an onion. 

Grif wasn't like Donut, he couldn't just cry on command, so he'd have to find other methods to get his eyes to leak the offending liquid.

Taking a bite of the mushroom first, he set it aside and pulled out a knife to cut the onion with.

As he sliced into the vegetable, his body started to heat up, uncomfortably so, to the point where he started to sweat more than usual.

He didn't even need to do anything else other than cut the damn thing before his eyes started to prick in discomfort and he felt a very small tear form at the edge of his eye. Blinking he turned around quickly, watching his reflection in the metallic fridge to see if a new streak had been added to his face.

No such luck. All the stupid thing made him do was get unnaturally warm.

Which meant that it was probably the green one.

Satisfied with narrowing it down, he found no reason to repeat the process- or further add more to mess that was his face- he tossed the knife into the sink and threw out the vegetable.

A mushroom that bleached people's skin via tears. Literally what the fuck.

And at the back of his mind, he realized that he was avoiding something major about this whole ordeal- the fact that he had cried his fucking heart out apparently somewhere in his intoxication, but he didn't miss the others, that'd be absurd, they're the ones in the wrong  _ not him, always second best, that's Grif- _

It's such an insignificant change to his life, that he pretty much forgets that it ever happened. And with how quickly he gets absorbed in wanting to make amends and then saving the day and then that whole time travel shit it's no wonder that he forgets  _ completely _ that he takes off his helmet in front of the others without a second thought.

It's the gasp from his sister that evidently makes him remember.

"Dex, what the fuck happened to your face," she sounds a mix of horrified and confused, and from the looks of the others, they seemed to share the same sentiment.

For a second he thought she was talking about the skin grafts, which she  _ has _ seen before, but then his extended stay at Iris pops into his head with full force, and he realizes his mistake.

Were he to lose his composure, he'd be tempted to raise a hand to cover his face, but he's long since been desensitized to shame from anything of that sort, so he just shrugs, and says, "Oh yeah, you weren't there during my time on Iris."

She pouts but considering her absence she doesn't seem to want to prod further.

But unfortunately for him, the others are not in the same mindset as his sister.

"Uh, no?" Tucker refutes. "I don't remember seeing those weird marks on your face back on Iris, so unless that's a load of bull then where were we?"

And even after all this time, there's still a part of Grif that's bitter, so he with his tear-stained face to emphasize his point cuts the other man down with, "Out looking for Church."

That manages to shut Tucker up, along with the rest of them.

Grif's not sorry for it.

He has nothing to apologize for.

**Author's Note:**

> I was a little stuck on how to make this one interesting when the image of someone's face _literally_ being stained with tears made me burst out laughing so I decided to go with that angle. Let's make the moon methshrooms like the temples of Chorus in that they can do whatever we want them to do for fanfic purposes, yeah?
> 
> If you'd like to contact me you can find me at either of my Tumblr's: @agent-murica (main) and @amateurscribes (writing)!


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